The Art of Deduction
by goldenorchids12
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a genius, something he takes much pride in. However, a shocking revelation from John Watson leaves him utterly astonished, a feeling he has never experienced before. In order to regain control of the situation, Sherlock decides to disclose information- information that will change his life forever. For the better? You find out!


Sherlock Holmes prided himself on his overwhelming intelligence; intelligence that rivaled that of only a handful of geniuses preceding him. His mind had never failed to come up with a solution to any puzzle presented to him, able to unravel mysteries that baffled most of the imbeciles around him. However, on this gloomy Saturday evening, Sherlock Holmes, noted genius, was baffled.

He was sprawled on his dilapidated sofa, staring with his mouth agape at his flat mate, colleague, and friend, John Watson. The latter appeared to be oblivious to the fact that the former had frozen where he lay, and continued on with the story he was telling, "… and then, out of nowhere, she asks me out! Me! Can you believe it? So I was just standing there like an idiot, and she looked a bit worried, so I just said 'Of course I will!', and then she lunged at me, and we kissed—" John stopped abruptly when Sherlock sat up bolt right on the sofa.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John's face scrunched in slight concern, his concern growing with alacrity when Sherlock ignored his question and stormed off upstairs, doors slamming behind him. _What on earth has gotten into him? _John pushed his questions away with great difficulty, resigning himself to ask his mad best friend what was bothering him as soon as he cooled off, and promptly buried his nose in a book.

_The Next Morning_

Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown tighter around his lean frame as he trudged down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. His steps faltered briefly as he saw the back of a blond head reading the newspaper, yet he continued on his journey to the kettle, and poured himself a cup of tea rather larger than he usually had. Without looking at his flat mate, Sherlock strode briskly to his customary perch on the sofa, sat down, and began pouring over his research. In fact, he became so absorbed in what he was doing, he didn't notice that John was now standing directly in front of his hunched frame.

"Sherlock," John spoke quietly, but with the determination he'd possessed since his days as a soldier, which left no room in deciphering his intentions: he was going to bloody talk to this man, whether he liked it or not. He had changed his mind last night, and came to the conclusion that Sherlock didn't get to sulk about this one. "Sherlock, yesterday… When I was telling you about Mary…" _Jesus, when did it become so hard to confront this git? _"Well, you seemed upset, and I want you to tell me why." John finished his rather awkward command with an odd gesture that looked like he was flapping non-existent wings.

Sherlock, however, did not seem to notice. In fact, he appeared not to have noticed John was speaking at all, because his eyes were still scanning over his research, as oblivious to his surroundings as ever. John was about to try again to get his attention, yet he merely shrugged and decided not to bother, instead he flopped down on his chair, opening the book he had started last night. He had not realized Sherlock was feigning interest in his research, because something much larger was occupying his mind…

Sherlock's mind was at war with itself, and the cause was the insufferable man sitting at perfect ease in a chair in front of him. Sherlock chanced a glance at him, sweeping over broad shoulders, muscled arms, and firm hands. The sirens in his head were blaring loudly, which he was used to by now. This was the general reaction his mind had when he even slightly considered that he was… _No_. He bent his head, and tried to focus on the words in front of him, whilst simultaneously holding himself back from shouting at the lovely man before him.

_Wait… 'Lovely'? What the hell? John Watson is __**NOT **__lovely. He's… Average. Right? Of course he is. There's nothing remotely enticing about him, and he is certainly not lovely. He's hardly stimulating, plain at best. Yet those hands… _"Oh, for the love of God," Sherlock muttered to himself, closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Sorry? Didn't quite catch that," John's reply came quickly, further increasing the throbbing that was becoming more and more insistent in his temples. "Nothing. Nothing of consequence. Leave me alone." Silence. Bliss?

"Sherlock…" Soft. A plea. Sherlock's eyes flew open, and came to rest upon John, who had discarded his book, and was leaning forward, unconsciously, in his chair. "I don't have time for this, John. I have quite a bit of work to do; work that will benefit countless others. So, no, I will not answer your insufferable questions about your tedious affairs with a woman you barely know. _Leave. Me. Alone._" Sherlock spat the last three words out with perhaps more venom than he had intended. A look of hurt flashed across John's face so briefly, anyone other than Sherlock would have missed it completely. As it was, however, he did notice it, and he had to look away before he did something ridiculous, like profess his undying love for the man.

In a voice of steely unconcern, which Sherlock knew was hiding the hurt, John replied, "Of course. I'll leave your royal highness alone, then, shall I? I wouldn't want to be a nuisance to a _genius_ in order to satisfy my own curiosity, no, of course not." John picked his book back up, considered momentarily chucking it at Sherlock's head, but thought better of it, and became determined not to stop reading until he died. Or, perhaps, until he became hungry for lunch.

Sherlock sighed heavily, before making up his mind to "cave in", as John occasionally put it. He squared his shoulders, and braced himself for all of the headaches that were to come from the looming conversation he was about to have with one John Watson.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" Sherlock's voice was wary, as was his gaze, when John's head shot up from his book. "What? I thought… Never mind," he said quickly, not wanting to know the answer, but ploughing on. "Right. Well, I wanted to know why you were so short with me after I told you about Mary." John looked at Sherlock, eagerly awaiting his answer. Sherlock snorted. "I thought that was obvious, John, but apparently I misjudged your brain power," John made a noise of impatience and anger, which Sherlock ignored. "I thought you realized that you are gay."

Silence. John's eyes and mouth were both wide open, and he was steadily turning the shade of a tomato. "I… You… What… Gay… I…" John spluttered for quite some time before Sherlock took pity on his friend, stating: "John, of course you are. I can read you completely, and I am an expert at reading body language. You have been attracted to me since you first laid eyes on me. Now, of course, this could mean you are bisexual, but your awkward fumblings with the opposite sex has left no doubt in my mind that you do not enjoy the company of women in that way. By simple deduction, observation, and laying out the facts, one can easily come to the conclusion that you are a homosexual. Who is attracted to me, as well," Sherlock added as an afterthought, staring at John after giving his small speech, and waited for John to stop opening and closing his mouth in a dumbfounded fashion.

After a few minutes, that moment finally came. John took a deep breath, and said rather shakily, "Even if… Even if what you said was true, I still have a few questions. First, do you honestly spend that much time pondering over my sexual preference? If so, why? Why do you care so much which gender I prefer? I would think that information would be unimportant to someone so cold inside as you."

John appeared to have struck a nerve. Sherlock's face, which had been flushed slightly from revealing the information he kept so close to his heart, drained of color immediately. Sherlock replaced all of the barriers that had slid down in the heat of the moment, and said cooly, "Cold inside? John, do not assume you know anything about me, especially how the inner mechanisms of my mind function. I rarely reveal my true thoughts to anyone, and I apologize for my rash speech moments ago. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I was under the impression you would embrace my words, but I can see now I was wrong. Never mind. Please leave me to my research." Sherlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and turned back towards the papers on the table in front of him.

"Oh, hell no. You are not going to just brush me off like that. I am your best friend, Sherlock, whether you want to admit it or not; you don't get to be an arse purely because I was surprised at your revelation. I admit, I am not interested in women, but I never really put two and two together until now. You're right. I am gay. I'm even interested in you, but I don't think that really changes much, especially since you told me ages ago that you consider yourself married to your work. So… Yeah." John finished speaking, and waited for any sign from Sherlock that he had heard what he'd said.

The man in question slowly raised his eyes before resting them, once again, on the man in front of him. "John, I thought you realized that I have the same preference sexually as you. What's more, I am also attracted to you." This confession spilled from Sherlock's lips before he could prevent it, and he clamped his hand over his mouth, as though that would stop his words from permeating the room around them. This, obviously, did not achieve the desired effect, but left John now pale-faced and slack jawed.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and breathed through his nose heavily, before slumping into the sofa cushions in defeat. _Well, there is no taking that back now… _Had he just ruined his first ever friendship by admitting his feelings? He chided himself for getting carried away in his explanation, and was starting to run through half-crazed ideas on how he could convince John he wasn't serious, when he felt said person's presence next to him on the sofa.

He opened his eyes ever so slightly before realizing how close John was to him. He fought the strong desire to move away from the close proximity, and instead forced his body to remain utterly still. Poised. Waiting. John looked up at him through thick lashes, placed his firm hand on Sherlock's knee, and softly voiced his question. "You have feelings for me, Sherlock?" In that moment, Sherlock made up his mind. He heard John's fears, hopes, and desires all voiced in that simple question, and Sherlock crumbled.

He closed the distance between their bodies, and crushed his lips onto John's. Slowly, he trailed his hands up to gently tug on the blond hair that had tormented him for longer than he would ever admit. John's response was immediate, and extremely pleasurable. They melted into a kiss that broke both of their barriers, and broke apart only once, to confirm they were both ready to take that step. With a clear yes in both of their hearts and eyes, they sank into each other, and floated off into the field of passion…

The two men lay content in each other's arms. Sherlock was running his fingertips lazily up and down John's spine, relishing in the shivers and sighs of pleasure coming from the man. Suddenly, and without warning, John sat up, a look of panic clouding his eyes. "What is it?" Sherlock inquired, doubts rushing into his mind, convinced John regretted the love making they had just finished, thinking John regretted giving him his heart and likewise, when John said, "What the hell am I going to tell Mary?" The two men locked eyes for the briefest of moments, before bursting into giggles, and Sherlock captured John's lips with his own.

He then stated, rather smugly, "Tell her not to mess with the subtle art of deduction," and winked cheekily up at the man he loved, before pulling John's face down, and sealing his future with a delectable kiss. 


End file.
